Forgiveness
by BarnesandMiddleEarth
Summary: Falsely accused of being a murderer, a bitter and angry young prince Thorin is forced to leave the village and his family, without even a goodbye. When in the wilds, he comes upon an elf child – one with bright red hair and a warrior's heart. Since misery loves company, Thorin grudgingly adopts the girl, and thus begins a journey that will change his life forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so I've never done this before. I have no idea what in Middle Earth I'm doing, but we'll give it a try. Bear with me. Now I love Tolkien, and while I would love to be able to spend hours in his works so I can get everything in this story correct to the merest detail, I just don't have that kind of time. I would much rather spend it writing than doing research.**

 **Enjoy!**

"Get out of here, Dwarf scum! You think you're a Prince, do you? You're nothing more than a beggar!" The children hurled rotten fruit along with their insults, but the young dwarf ignored it all. He put a protective arm around his sister and continued on down the road, resisting the urge to even look at their tormentors. A large, lanky lad, braver than the rest, gave chase, still tossing insults and tomatoes. "Is that your little sissy brother?" the boy called, his voice a sickly sing-song. "Did he cry when the dragon took your home? You should have turned to fight instead of run! I thought Dwarves were brave warriors, not weak old women!"

That did it. Frerin spun around, his eyes dangerously hot. "You call us cowards one more time, and it'll be the last thing you ever say," he warned, trying to keep his voice calm and even.

"What are you going to do to me? Run me through with your butter knife? Stab me with your garden rake? You have no weapons!" Obviously, this mortal had no fear, though he should know better than to insult a Dwarf if he valued his life.

Frerin hesitated, but just for a moment. Yes, he didn't have a sword or an axe at his side, but he had any amount of knives. Before he could act, however, his sister grabbed one such weapon from his belt and charged at the teen, roaring, "How _dare_ you call me a sissy little boy!" Her face, livid with rage, could have scared a Nazgul and sent it quaking away. "Say that one more time, why don't you!"

The boy swallowed, unsure if he liked how far this game had gone. "Fine," he said, glancing around the empty town road. "I'm...sorry..."

"Sorry for?" She narrowed her eyes, dragging out the punishment, intending to teach a well-deserved lesson.

"Sorry...for...delaying you so my brothers could sneak around and get their hands on you!" he finished with a grin. Frerin glanced over his shoulder, only to find himself in the shadow of three large brothers, all tall and very strong. They carried crude, possibly handmade, swords, yet the blades were still sharp, if not perfectly balanced. "What are you doing to our little Grim?" one, possibly the eldest (if height was any indication), asked, his lips twisted in a sneer. "It's not very nice of you to torment children smaller than you, dwarfie. That's just not nice at all. And you, little vixen, you were going to tear him apart with a knife?"

Frerin put an arm around his sister, ready to protect her with his fists if need be. "I believe it was your brother who started the fight." He made a mental note never to leave his bed again without at least a sword and a long knife.

"What? Grim? You would never...!"

Grim, like the little beast that he was, nodded sadly. "They're going to cut me up into tiny pieces!" he proclaimed.

"Well, we'll just have to teach these nasty Dwarves a lesson," the oldest brother said, grinning from ear to ear.

Frerin swallowed, pushed Dis behind him, and rolled up his sleeves. "Come and take the beating, you..." he dodged the first sweep of the sword, his dark brown hair swirling around his face. Someone kicked him in the back, and he stumbled forward, desperate to keep his balance. Dis screamed. "Leave her _alone_!" Frerin roared, spinning around in time to see the flat of a sword blade come to meet his face. It hurt, but what hurt more was the ground when he fell backwards. Someone stepped on his wrist, a booted toe kicked his ribs, and another boy screamed. Frerin roared in pain and struggled to stand.

Wait...was that one of the blasted boys screaming? And metal against metal? Frerin heard movement behind him, but he couldn't see what was going on. The boy standing on his hand was looking at the fight, his eyes wide. He pointed his sword at Frerin's chest, and the dwarf didn't want to see just how far the boy would go. But he couldn't just stay down and wait. The youth wasn't looking at him, so he took the opportunity to put the flat of the blade away and twist his body around, kicking out. As soon as the pressure was gone from off his wrist he stood up to see a black-haired dwarf engaging the other brothers. The newcomer was a skilled swordsman, and it wasn't long before he had disarmed his opponents and sent them fleeing, small cuts dotting their skin - enough to sting and bleed, but not badly enough to scar or cause further damage.

"Thorin!" Frerin cried, scrambling to his feet. "About time you showed up! Where've you been?"

The oldest of the three siblings sheathed his sword and wiped his forehead. "Helping Yurgen in the smithy. What are you two doing here?"

"We wanted to come and see you," Dis stepped closer, looking at her toes. "Grandpapa said we could walk home with you."

Thorin snorted. "I thought Grandpapa would have more sense than that. The townsfolk have no love for Dwarves, and he knows it." At the distress in his sister's face, however, he softened his tone. "But they should leave you alone once they know that you are with me. Come, let's go home. Tomorrow I will buy some tarts for everyone. I have a little extra coin to spend after today's work."

"Oh, good!" Dis danced a little, resting her hands on Frerin's shoulders and jumping up and down.

Laughing, the three-some strolled down the road, leaving a number of crude swords behind them. An old woman sitting outside her house in the sun shook her head at them, but she was the only one who had seen the fight.

"Why do men hate us so much?" Dis asked, her feminine face bright and innocent.

"Because they're too tall, that's why!" Frerin retorted. "They don't like having to stoop down to talk to us. It hurts their back and makes them cranky!"

Thorin opened his mouth to contribute to the situation, but a look from Frerin silenced him. His younger brother knew well how much hate Thorin harbored, and Dis was not a good choice to pour it out upon. With a frown, Thorin bit his tongue lest he begin upon a tirade against men, elves, dragons, orcs, or anyone else who had done his family wrong. In time to come, Dis would realize the injustice they lived under.

On the edge of town, far past the dwellings of men, a small Dwarven settlement could be found. The homes were small, built of rock, grass, wood, and whatever else could be salvaged. It was a poor place, with only about twenty or so little homes dotting the landscape. Small corrals contained shaggy ponies and goats, the occasional chicken, and maybe a cow or two. The dwellings of the remnant of the Dwarves of Erebor, a once mighty people, now brought low.

A small, insignificant house, surrounded by other bland dwellings, marked the home of the King and his family. Nothing distinguished it from the others, no mark of splendor upon the filthy rug that made up the door. And Thror himself did not sit upon a throne inside. Instead, he sat upon a pile of blankets, peering over maps by the light of a small candle. He looked up as his grandchildren entered, a small smile on his face. "Glad to see you are back. Dis, the soup is close to boiling. Better see to it."

With a nod, Dis took off her muddy boots moved into the section of the hut that could barely be called a kitchen. A black pot of stew bubbled over a small fire, and a basket of dirty carrots lay nearby. "Thorin, would you please take these out and wash them?" Dis gestured to the vegetables.

"Yes," Thorin said. "Frerin, you'd better change. Your coat is filthy."

Frerin twisted around to look at his back, which was covered in mud. His forehead wrinkled. "But I don't have another coat!"

"Wear my other one," Thorin sighed, hanging his head as he stepped outside with the basket. Stomping down the muddy road to the nearby creek, he tried to remember when life _hadn't_ been this way. Yes, there once had been wealth and splendor for all. His clothes had once been rich and beautiful, and his family had been happy. But now...now they had sunk to the mud, with no possibility of rising again. And all because of the Dragon. All because the Elven King had refused to help them. Now they were on their own.

Scrubbing the carrots a bit harder than needed, Thorin again repeated his promise. _When I am older, I will save my people from this awful place. I will bring them into great halls once more. Someday._

As he hunched over the rippling creek, scrubbing the dirt and grime off the carrots as best he could, Thorin was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't notice the shadows moving along the trees, just across the water. An evil face with gleefully sparkling eyes, peered out at him. The horrible gaze swept over the young dwarf prince, then flickered up to the encampment.

"Ah, well, that's as clean as they'll get," Thorin said softly, shaking water off his hands and trudging back to the house. He never knew he was watched. Thus he was unsuspecting when he woke in the middle of the night to frantic wails and a war cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**So this chapter ended up being a bit short. I didn't plan this part out much, and I'm admittedly just skipping ahead to get to the "fun stuff." The next chapter should be a bit more longer and, well, fun!**

 **And just so you know, I'm no relation to Tolkien, and I own none of these characters. But that would be fun.**

"It was a dwarf, I tell you!"

The wail echoed through the Dwarven settlement, startling the occupants awake. Thorin sprang to his feet, grabbed his cloak, and ran for the door. His father was already there, peering past the blanket at the band of men marching their way. Torches above the dark heads, and the barest bit of daylight could be seen brightening the distant horizon.

"This bodes ill," Thrain said. "Let's settle the matter." There was no denying the Kingship in the Dwarf's bearing. As he approached the frenzied crowd, they settled a little bit, held under control by the presence of Royalty, though he was clothed in rags and wore no crown. "What's going on here?" Thrain asked, his hands at his belt and his head thrown back a little. "Why do you disturb us?"

"There's been a murder in our town! Dirty work – done by a Dwarf, no less!" The man, apparently the leader of the riot, shook his finger in the Dwarf lord's face. "One of our own, bereft of life, because one of your wild spawn wanted a bit of sport!"

Thrain kept his head, though the insult grated at him. Flying into a fury would only get his people into more trouble. "I will find the culprit and see that he is justly punished, according to our laws," he said. "You have my deepest condolences for your loss."

"It's a lie! He's only covering up? A Dwarf would never punish his own flesh and blood for such a deed!" Voices from the crowd shouted angry threats, waving torches and swords in the air. "Bring your son before us, for we must have vengeance!"

"My son?!" Thrain stiffened. "What does he have to do with this?"

"He's the murderer! Don't deny it!"

From where he stood in the doorway of the house, Thorin could feel his anger rise, deep inside his chest. A weaker sort might have turned to hide, afraid of what might come, but he only stepped outside, his shoulders tight. "I deny it!" he said, his voice dangerously low. "I have done no harm to anyone!"

"No harm, you say?" Little brown-haired Grim pushed his way through the crowd, two of his three brothers right behind him. "Look at our hands!" They displayed the small sword cuts Thorin had given them earlier. "Do you deny giving these to us? You know they are from your sword!"

Thorin saw the trap, but what could he do? He would not lie, not with his siblings behind him, listening; not with his father beside him, listening; not with everyone knowing who had done it. So he raised his head a little, imitating his grandfather. "Yes, I did attempt to teach you a lesson when you were tormenting helpless children, but I think you learned nothing from it."

"So it was him! He doesn't deny it!" The crowd was nearing a frenzy, inching closer and closer. They had tasted blood, and it goaded them on, hungry for more. "Kill him!"

"You just can't go executing _royalty_!" Thrain roared, stepping in front of his son. "Are you such lawless creatures as that?"

"Banishment! We'll banish him! Never to be seen in these lands again, lest he forfeit his own life!" The governor of the small town tried to settle the angered crowd. "He will learn the meaning of suffering!"

Thrain put a hand on his son's shoulder, and the two stoically waited the storm out. Many men would not be appeased except by the dwarf's own death, but slowly they were brought over to banishment, though perhaps a bit grudgingly. And so the decision was (almost) unanimous: the punishment for the (supposed), murder would be banishment.

"It could be worse, Thorin," Thrain said softly. "Go to Dain, in the Iron Hills."

"But I didn't do it!" Thorin hissed. "It's all a filthy lie!"

"And how are you going to prove it? They want your blood! It's best you take this and leave while you still have your _life_!" Thrain jabbed a finger at the younger dwarf. Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but his father turned away, stomping through the mud back towards their small house. As soon as the dwarf was out of sight, the crowd surged upon Thorin, grabbing him by his hair, his shirt, his arms, screaming and shouting in vengeance and complete madness. Thorin roared, kicking and fighting back, but a blow to the head stilled him, and he fell into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Things should start getting a little more exciting now! I'm starting to gather all my plots/plans/purposes for this story, and getting a brief outline together. If there's anything y'all want to see, please, send suggestions to me!**

 **Secondly, I just now figured out how to read reviews! So...yeah. Sorry about the delay!**

 **thewolf74 - yes, Thorin didn't kill anyone. But why are they blaming him? Hmmm...that's the question...**

 **MiyonzMae - here's your next chapter. Hit me with your questions!**

 **And, as I said before, I don't own anything of Tolkien's, except for a large number of his published works that anyone can buy and which sit on my bookshelf, worn from use.**

The sky was gray, threatening rain. Thorin stared up at it, squinting, even though the half-morning light was still dark and gentle. His head ached, and as he lifted his hand to rub his eyes, a sharp pain in his wrist jerked him to a sitting position.

"Mahal!" he groaned, gingerly touching the red mark that burned on his skin. "It really happened."

He wasn't sure where he was exactly, but he couldn't be far from home. Judging by the prints in the dirt, he had been carried on horseback, dumped on the ground, and left to…strike out on his own, die, wait for someone to find him, be easy prey for wild animals, who knows? He had nothing but the clothes on his back – his pants, boots, and light undershirt he slept in. There was a small carving knife in his pocket, but it wouldn't be much help.

With a groan, he got to his feet and surveyed the landscape. The old hunting road that led to the first snaked off to his left. To the right, if he walked a good few miles, he would be back at the town, with his family. But he couldn't go.

Banished.

The word stuck in his throat. Banished. Thorin, a dwarf prince, banished from his home like a thief of the streets. He should be back at Erebor, receiving honor and glory as a son of Durin, but now here he was, penniless, weaponless, and viewed as a murderer.

Banished.

Not that their little hut was much of a home, but he could never enter it again. He could never even get close enough to see it without the risk of death. For all of its nastiness and poor quality, it was much better than the open sky. At least it was warm in winter. At least it kept the rain off their heads. And now he had nothing.

Banished.

Dis. Frerin. Father. Grandfather. He would never see them again. Their smiling faces, their bright eyes, he would never again look upon them. Would they be alright without him? Would father and Frerin be able to make enough money to support them? And who would protect Dis? Frerin would have to grow up a little more, and put away his books if he was ever going to be responsible.

Banished.

Thorin roared, tipping his head back to the sky and letting out every frustration. He kicked the dirt, screamed again, and sat down, staring at the horizon, behind which lay his family. What was he to do?

Banished.

Go. He would go, and he would live, and he would survive. He would not let this kick him down. He would only rise to the challenge. He was a son of Durin, and in times of trouble, they trudged on, stubbornly perhaps, but they always triumphed, in the end.

Banished.

Those foolish boys. Those mean, cruel, hateful boys. He had fallen right into their trap. Had they planned this from the first taunt thrown at his siblings, or was this merely an attempt to get back at him for teaching them a lesson in manners?

Banished.

All because he had protected his little brother and sister from cruel men. All because of a few little sword cuts. All because of men. Why had they done this to him? He had never done anything to them beyond a few hard knocks, which other children had surely given them before. Why would they accuse him of such wrong-doing?

Banished.

Thorin stood, whispered a farewell to the village, and put it behind him. The forest was close, and it could probably reach it before the rain let loose. With quick, hurried strides, he trotted along the hunting path, his small carving knife in his hand.

Banished.

If he met anyone, he would hide. Or should he ask for help? No, he would hide. Who would help a dwarf accused of murder? He was on his own.

Banished.

 _They will pay. They will pay for doing this to me. Someday I will return, and they will get what they deserve._

Revenge.

 **So. Question: would you prefer me to update often, with shorter sections, like this, or would you rather wait longer and get longer sections to read? Any opinion?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright everyone, here is another chapter. Kinda short, and I apologize for that. But enjoy it anyway!**

It was nearly dark when Thorin found himself in view of the small little outpost. Even from far away, he could tell the gates were closed for the night, and trying to argue his way in with the gatekeeper was not a favorable option. After standing stock-still and staring for a few minutes, he backtracked his steps until he found a sheltered spot to spend the night. The rain had poured steadily most of the afternoon, but as the sun went down, the downpour lessened and finally let up altogether. Of course the ground was wet and rather unpleasant, but a few spots in the woods under the thick bushes were relatively less damp.

"I don't believe this," Thorin muttered, curling underneath the bush and resting his head on his arm. His stomach growled, demanding food, but it was too early in the spring for berries to be growing, and with his small knife he wouldn't be able to hunt down any food at all. "Maybe it's just a dream."

The pain in his wrist was all too real, and he knew whenever he looked at the brand that he would forever be reminded that this was not a dream.

A flapping of wings caught his attention, and he looked up to see a black bird had perched on a branch above his head. And the black bird was horribly familiar.

"Coran? Is that you?"

The Raven cocked his head sideways. "Yes, it is I, Thorin, son of Thrain. Your father bid me to follow you."

At least his father had had enough sense to give him the stupidest Raven that ever walked Middle Earth. The poor bird couldn't be trusted to carry any important messages, and often vanished for weeks at a time. He only stuck around for the free handouts that Dis gave him.

"Do you have a message for me?" Thorin asked, hopeful that perhaps the bird remembered some of it.

"No. I have no message for you." The bird looked incredibly solemn, which was quite hard for a bird to pull off. "Just that I am to follow you and obey you."

Thorin huffed. "Fine. Your first order is not to leave me."

"I will not leave you. I am to follow you."

Was there a hint of annoyance in the Raven's tone? Thorin wanted to groan. "Very well. You better be here in the morning when I wake up."

"How are you going to sleep on the ground? Don't you normally sleep with your family in the house, with blankets and a pil-"

"Close the beak!" Thorin roared, shaking a fist at the bird. "I don't want to hear another croak out of you!"

"Right. Closing the beak. I'll keep very qui-"

" _Please_!" Thorin rolled over and away from the Raven. "Silence!"

Coran wisely did not make so much as a peep, tucking his head under his wing and remaining motionless for the rest of the night. Thorin, however, could not sleep. His body ached, his stomach called for food, and his throat longed for water. As he lay on the wet ground, his clothes soaked in the moisture, and he shivered.

It was a cold and lonely night, and sleep remained far from him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Oy! I have been unbelieveably busy, and then Camp NaNo started, so I'm working on a novel for that, and once that's done, it's back to editing my first book. And trying to train this young horse, and keep running, and do all the Spring farm work, I've had no time. I am so sorry folks! Hopefully I can get back into a habit of updating semi regularly…comments and such help to motivate!**

In the morning, Thorin found his back a bit stiff and sore, but not too bad for sleeping outside. Dwarves were hardy, especially the young ones. Age and race did nothing to help his empty stomach, or the horrible emptiness deep in his heart. Everything – the trees, the grass, the road stretching towards the town – reminded him of his horrible fate.

"Where's the blasted raven gone?" he muttered, getting to his feet and shaking dirt off his pants and back. "Why Coran, of all birds?"

The raven made no appearance as Thorin trekked to the road and started off towards the town. By now the gates should be open. Perhaps someone would hire him for a bit of work. Any food or coin he could get would have to be carefully rationed. Who knew how long it would take to get to the Iron Hills at foot pace? Never had Thorin longed more for a pony.

A flapping of wings in his left ear signaled the arrival of Coran. "You're not going home?"

"No, I'm not. Be quiet."

"Why are you not going home?"

Thorin took a deep breath, his fingers curling into fists. "I don't want to."

"You want to be by yourself?"

"In one sense. Stop talking."

Coran shut his beak, but the look in his eyes was still one of confusion. He seemed to be thinking the whole matter over as they made their way through the gates of the outpost. A few people were up and about in the morning light and heavy dew, and they stared at Thorin, like children seeing a stranger in the house.

 _I probably look a mess,_ Thorin groaned. _Sleeping outside. This stupid bird on my shoulder. Not even a coat or a sword to my name._ _Who would hire me like this?_

Turns out the Innkeeper could care less about appearances. "Clean all the stalls, get them shiny, and you can have lunch on the house," he said. "Pitchfork is over there. Dump everything out the dung gate."

Even though his stomach growled fiercely with hunger, Thorin contemplated declining the work. But he swallowed his pride, grabbed the pitchfork, and set to work as fast he could. The raven flew around the barn, pointing out places he missed, commenting on the poor woodwork, and ogling the great nesting places in the rafters. Thorin wiped sweat off his brow and tuned the bird off.

 _Behold, the great Prince of Erebor. Banished from his home and mucking stalls. They will pay for this. They will pay!_


	6. Chapter 6

"There's got to be something we can do."

"Like what, Princess?" Thrain stared at his daughter wearily, tired of hearing the same question over and over. "Thorin is a strong lad. If he can't make it out on his own like this, he's weaker than I thought. He can get to the Iron Hills on his own, and Dain will take care of him."

Dis vigorously ran a knife along a potato, chopping it to bits with great skill. "How's he going to get food? Shelter? Money? Can he make it all the way to the Iron Hills with nothing but that stupid raven and whatever he has in his pockets?"

"He'll be fine," Thrain repeated. He had said those same words over and over they had lost meaning. "Don't worry about him."

The returning look said that Dis very well was going to continue worrying. But said she nothing, only continued preparing the soup. She had been very busy the past couple days, as if trying to drive out thoughts of Thorin with work. The house was cleaner than it had been in a long time (though that might have something to do with the fact that there was one less person in the little dwelling now).

"What will mother think of this?" Dis finally said. "You just left Thorin out there on his own."

"Thorin will be fine. He really will be. You stop worrying. I have sent a Raven to Dain. He will probably send out dwarves to find Thorin and help him along the path. Don't worry, Princess."

Dis merely raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I won't worry. I'll do something about it."

"And what are you going to do that I haven't?"

"I'm going to ride out and find him. I'll help him get there, or at least give him food, clothing, and a pony. Frerin has offered to help me."

"Frerin?" Thrain almost laughed. The younger son was not much of an adventurer. He preferred to tinker around with wood and metal and make toys then to fight with a sword and ride a pony. "Frerin will go with you?"

"Yes, he will. Only he wanted to go with your blessing."

Of course. Frerin the hero, as always. Thrain considered. "As long as the villagers do not see you go. They will most likely suspect your intentions, and stop you. Leave at night, and tell no man your plans. Only our own folk you may trust."

Dis smiled. "Thank you, father! We will return once we see Thorin safely away to the Iron Hills! I wish I could go with him, but I'll return."

"I'm glad of that. Who else would cook me my favorite stew?"

 **Sorry that was so short (and so past due). I'll get back to Thorin as soon as I can!**


End file.
